


all that glitters

by EllisLuie



Series: love is loud(er) [4]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Implied underage drinking, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Nothing super overt but just to be safe, Past Drug Addiction, Pre-Canon, Sober Klaus Hargreeves, Swearing, implied/referenced suicidal ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:00:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25351276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllisLuie/pseuds/EllisLuie
Summary: Allison loved her family, but she also loved LA.akaKlaus writes Allison a letter.
Relationships: Allison Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves
Series: love is loud(er) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1807864
Comments: 20
Kudos: 260





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is the very first fic in the series i started writing, but it's also the only one i haven't finished before starting to post, so. there might be a little time between updates. i know where i want to go with the fic, and just a warning that it will get a bit ... darker? lightly shaded, maybe. the tags are subject to change as i write more/update, so keep an eye on those to know what's up

Allison loved LA.

The lights, the cameras, the eclectic but refined style of everything, vibrant and new and beautiful. She was used to fortune, used to fame, but LA was like a whole other world compared to everything she’d known before. She wasn’t famous for being Number Three, the Rumour, here, didn’t carry the weight of Reginald Hargreeves’ Academy on her shoulders. Instead, she’d carved out a space for herself in this shiny world, a place where people knew her name, her real name, because Allison Hargreeves was a damn good actress.

Journalists had even stopped asking her about the Academy, about her brothers, a few years ago, once she had proven to them and the world that she was more than all that. And, God, that was such a relief, like breaking the last hold Dad had on her life.

It came at a cost, of course, and Allison sometimes regretted the distance she’d forced between herself and her siblings, both physical and metaphorical. She could never and would never regret leaving for LA, because she was still adamant that building her own life separate from the Academy was the best thing she ever did, but she did get nostalgic sometimes. Logically, she knew distance from her father didn’t necessarily have to mean distance from her siblings, but during her first few years in LA, she couldn’t bear the thought of mixing the two, afraid that introducing even one of her siblings to her life in Hollywood would bring everything crumbling down around her.

And, well, it was just easier to untangle herself from the Umbrella Academy completely, family and all.

Asking her PA to screen her calls was probably a bit much, but Allison, as much as she loved her siblings, knew just how dysfunctional and destructive they all were. As far as she could tell, she was the only one who had made any real effort to establish herself away from the Academy, with the others still wallowing in the same city, not making anything of themselves. She didn’t want to get caught off guard if they decided to reach out and involve her in any of their messes - hence the screening. 

It wasn’t like they were banned from calling her, anyway. Jenny would take their calls, or listen to their messages, and if it sounded important she forwarded it on to Allison. 

(She had always meant to call Luther back, those first few months, because she knew he was the only one left in the house, knew how difficult that must be. And she did miss him, of course she did, but she got caught up in her first big acting role and the preliminary marketing for the film included a tagline about _the Rumour’s first debut from her superhero past_ and months went by and she never picked up the phone.)

Then Allison had met Patrick and felt intoxicatingly normal, even with the beginnings of her stardom lapping at her heels. Because Patrick was kind and confident and took her to classy parties, and she never felt ashamed on his arm, never felt like she was hiding or vying for attention. She fit beside him perfectly, complementing each other on magazine covers, and he never asked her about her past. He was safe and normal and charming, and her siblings were so distant and small compared to him, so she pushed them from her mind, because why would she need them when she had Patrick and fame and normality?

When Claire came along, the nostalgia returned. 

Allison was in awe over having her own family, something to call her own, whole and beautiful. She wouldn’t trade Claire and Patrick for the world, not for anything, and she loved seeing them on magazines and television screens, because she was proud of them, of what she had made for herself, and she wanted to shout it from the rooftops. She wondered if Dad kept tabs on her life, wondered if her siblings followed her spots in the news. Wondered if they’d seen pictures of her wedding, of Claire.

Holding her child in her arms, her world shifted. She found herself thinking of her siblings when they were young, round-faced, less jaded, _whole_. She saw them in Claire’s tiny face, remembered when they’d been small.

They would love Claire, she knew. Oh, they’d be awkward and prickly and completely out of their depths because none of them were raised to understand children or emotions, but all the same, they’d love her. Allison imagined introducing Luther to her child, or Vanya, seeing brother or sister hold Claire, old and new.

(But then she thought of Ben, who would never meet his niece. Five, who would have been terrified by a baby, forever thirteen in her memories. Diego, too angry and too stiff to ever cuddle Claire the way she pictured. Klaus, barely suitable for adult audiences, let alone being around an infant.)

The nostalgia crept up in waves around her, imagining Claire with her siblings, young and old, in LA, in the Academy. She didn’t reach out to any of them.

She justified it by reminding herself that it had been a long seven years since they’d been any kind of friendly, and even longer since they’d been a family. They weren’t kids anymore, and any bond that had once existed between the ~~seven six~~ _five_ of them had long since deteriorated. Allison had walked away from the Academy with stars in her eyes, and the only ones she had even faintly pictured staying in contact with had fallen behind. 

Then, one day when Claire was a little over a year old, Jenny told her that one of her siblings had sent her a letter.

The last kind of communication Allison had received from her siblings had been five years ago from Diego, a passive aggressive note attached to an invoice for a mediocre rehab facility reluctantly asking (demanding) her to foot the bill for Klaus’s addictions. But after that incident, she’d directed Jenny to deal with those future invoices (for there had been several) without her, so she knew this couldn’t be another.

Admittedly, she was tempted to dismiss the letter. 

But Allison had always cared about family, even when she barely knew the meaning of the word. And now that she had Patrick and Claire around her, she ached for the lost children in knee socks and masks.

She had mourned Five when he disappeared, had listened to every conspiracy theory the public had to offer on his disappearance, had covertly hired a PI early on in LA to try to find him, then mourned again when they turned up nothing. Ben’s death broke her, broke the whole of the Academy, and she’d booked her flight to LA a week after the funeral. Losing two brothers had wounded her in a way that had never healed - but then she had lost the others by choice.

She told Jenny to send her the letter.

Allison wasn’t sure who she was expecting it to be from. Luther, maybe, in a last ditch effort to keep their childhood tie. She had heard whispers and gossip that Dad was planning something big for Number One, some mission noteworthy enough to get the news talking about the Academy again for the first time in years; maybe Luther was nervous, having doubts, wanted to know what life outside the Academy was like. God, Allison wished he would leave and get out from under their father’s thumb.

Or maybe the letter would be from Vanya, though they had never been close as kids. She had recently published a tell-all about them, and Allison hoped she’d written to apologize. The book hadn’t been kind to any of them, and while Allison could somewhat understand that Vanya had just been trying to be heard, it reeked of bias and naivety that burned. Vanya’s resentment that she had been the _ordinary_ one, shunned from the Academy that had traumatized them to the point of running away or drugs or _death_ , left a sour taste in Allison’s mouth. If it was Vanya that had written, Allison didn’t know if she could bring herself to write back.

Hell, maybe the letter was even from Diego, though that seemed unlikely. Number Two had grown up angry and forcibly distant, and Allison couldn’t imagine he would sit down and write to her of all people. She wasn’t exactly on his favourite sibling list, though she thought, quietly, that that list probably wasn’t very long anymore. Maybe he would be asking for more money on behalf of their wayward sibling again. 

Whomever she was expecting the letter to be from, it wasn’t Klaus.

Allison was surprised to find his name on the paper, then scolded herself for it. He was still her brother, even if it felt like he’d abandoned the family long before she had. It was a surprise, though, for him to write; as far as she was aware, the rehab she paid for had never took, and no one had ever really been able to pin him to one place. She’d never really thought too hard about what his life might be like now, but if she’d been asked, she would have said he was the last person to ever think to sit down and write a letter. He’d always been more of a live in the moment kind of person, and she honestly didn’t think he paid much thought to any of his siblings unless they were right in front of him. 

It had been different when they were kids, before everything got so gnarled and ugly. Allison had spent most of her childhood beside Luther, but she’d considered herself decently close to Ben and Klaus, as well. (She’d always entertained the thought of being closer to Vanya, the only girls in a household of testosterone, but they’d never been able to connect.) Klaus had always been the first to comfort Allison when she was upset, willing to lend an ear whenever she needed to rant, because Luther meant well but could be oblivious sometimes, particularly when Allison was upset because of Dad. Klaus, though, was always a captivated audience, managing to absorb her anger and then turn around and make her laugh. Allison had perfected her makeup and nail painting skills with Klaus, and he with her, though he’d never quite got the hang of sharp winged eyeliner, hands too shaky and eyes too bloodshot by the time they were old enough to practice.

Then he fell eagerly into drugs with open arms and it was like he was a completely different person. They hadn’t been close in almost nine years.

Allison was almost touched by the letter, but also nervous. Wary, perhaps. Until she opened it, she didn’t know what side of Klaus would be on the page, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to open that box.

That damning nostalgia, though.

So she got Patrick to mind Claire for a while and then holed up in their bedroom, handling the letter with an unwarranted gingerness. It wasn’t a bomb, she told herself sternly. Just a mystery note from her drug addict brother, disaster extraordinaire. A hole punctured in her Hollywood bubble, the halls of the Academy peering through.

 _Hey Allie_ , the letter opened with, and Allison inhaled sharply. Klaus and Ben had been the only ones who ever used that nickname, and she hadn’t heard it since they were twelve. It poked at her, painful and familiar.

 _I know you don’t want to hear from us commoners, but I wanted to write anyway. I tried calling but_ ~~_Jenny_ ~~ _I forgot you don’t answer the phone, whoops! Probably for the best, I don’t have my own phone anyway and payphones suck. But everybody likes snail mail, it’s very hipster._ ~~_Shit I don’t have_ ~~ _You can just send letters for me to the post office, right? Or maybe to Diego’s? I mean, if you want. Obviously you’re busy being mega famous (I saw pictures of your last red carpet, that purple gown was fabulous!), so no pressure if you don’t want to write back. But I’d like it if you did._ ~~_I miss_ ~~

_Congrats on the baby, too! That’s what people do, right? Congratulate each other on procreating? Claire, yeah. I bet she’s gorgeous, I mean how could she not be with Allison Hargreeves as her wunderschöne Mutter! I’d love to_ ~~_meet_ ~~ _hear about her, though your junkie brother probably isn’t something you’ll want her to know about ha_

 _Oh! I’m actually_ ~~_sober_ ~~ _No that’s a lie, sorry. I’m better, though. Diego says I should kick the weed and cigs too but i tell him hey at least the pills and heroin are out, right? He said you helped pay for all the rehab, so… thanks. I’m too broke to ever pay you back but I thought you might want to know that something finally got through and I’m off the worse shit now. Four months! If you don’t believe me,_ ~~_like Luther_ ~~ _you can ask Diego, I won’t be offended! I crash at his sometimes and he always makes sure I’m clean._

_I bet life in Hollywood is amazing. I haven’t seen many of your movies, but I want to! Luther says maybe I can watch one with him sometime, isn’t that funny? We’ve actually been talking a little, if you can believe it. I don’t think he really likes being in public with me and I hate that fucking house, so it’s hard to actually see him but sometimes I call if I have change for the payphone. And he took me out for donuts last week! I know he misses you too, Allie._

_Everything’s so_ ~~_loud_ ~~ _strange right now._ _I ~~can’t~~ _ _I mean, fuck, I’m looking forward to hanging out with One! Hell must have frozen over. I just want to talk to everyone again, you know?_ ~~_I don’t know if_ ~~ _You never know what might happen in the future, and I don’t want to misplace by darlings!_

 _If you don’t want to write back, that’s okay. I just wanted to say I love you, Allie. Sorry for the past_ ~~_twelve_ ~~ _few years._

 ~~_F_ _our_ _  
_ ~~ _Klaus_

Allison read through the letter a few times, a line deepening between her brow. Her brother had always been erratic and sometimes hard to follow, his thought process unpredictable and known only to him, and only occasionally, but usually he was more deliberate with his words. Even when they were kids and he was still refining his dark humour and nonchalant wit, he was always a master of his words. He spoke nonsense, made shitty jokes and never seemed to shut up, but Allison had always thought that there was a lot Klaus wasn’t saying. This letter felt like a draft the Klaus she remembered would never have sent. 

But, well, it had been years since she left the Academy, and even longer since the Klaus she remembered had been around. In her darker, less charitable moments, Allison sometimes thought the brother she’d grown up with, whimsical Four who made them laugh and painted her nails, had been the first to leave them, before even Five. Klaus had started drinking young, after all, and only spiralled from there.

Frankly, Allison had kind of just written off Klaus long before she left for LA. She still considered him her brother, because he _was_ , and she had fond memories of him when they were young, but the older they got and the more he fell into drugs, the less she felt like family. Or even friends, which was par for the course with the Hargreeves siblings, she thought.

Still, he’d reached out to her, sat down and written a letter even after almost a decade of no contact. And he was sober, apparently, which was almost too ridiculous to entertain. Allison might have been inclined to disbelieve him, remembering all the times he’d lied in the past, but well, it looked like he had two of their brothers backing him up. Considering Allison was miles away and hadn’t even visited their home city in years, she figured Luther and Diego would know the truth better than she did.

And Allison was - touched, almost. There was nothing that had made Klaus write to her, in fact he had every reason not to, considering the effort she went to to impede any attempts at contact with her remaining family. But here he was, making an effort, though his motives were unclear. Maybe there were no ulterior motives - maybe, just maybe, he genuinely missed her. 

Though, the thought that he had also reconnected with Diego and Luther was… strange. Diego, Allison could understand. Number Two had always had a soft spot for certain siblings, and Klaus had always been one of them, even when he was like a feral cat fighting to push them away. Luther, though, was a surprise. Allison knew Luther loved their family, but he struggled showing it, and as they got older the only one Luther clashed with more than Klaus had been Diego. She honestly couldn’t imagine what would have instigated their reconciliation.

She thought she might like to find out.

-

“Are you going to write back?” Patrick asked absently that night, curled up together in bed. 

Placing the baby monitor onto the bedside table, Allison snuggled in closer to her husband’s side, sighing into his neck. “What? No,” she scoffed. “Of course not. Klaus is - complicated. I haven’t spoken to him in years.”

“Well, do you want to?” Patrick pressed, trailing his fingers along her ribs. She frowned.

“I … don’t know,” she admitted. “I loved him, when we were little. He was always running around, spending time with all of us. He gave the best hugs.” She smiled faintly, fondly. 

Patrick hummed, already half-asleep, worn out from a day of baby-wrangling. Allison loved him for it. “You’ve been saying since the baby was born that you miss your family. Sounds like you were close to Klaus as kids, so why not connect with him again?”

“Because he’s different,” she said immediately. “We’re not kids anymore. And he’s a mess, always has been.”

In answer, Patrick snored.

Allison prodded his side a few times but gave up when he just snuffled and turned back to his pillow, leaving her to argue with herself. 

She couldn’t deny that she wanted to write back. She was curious about Klaus, about his life, about Luther and Diego. She hadn’t heard from her brothers in years, had no idea what their lives were like, and this seemed like a golden opportunity to finally get a glimpse of all that she’d left behind. And now that she had Patrick and Claire to keep her anchored to her own life, it felt less risky, less like she was going to wake up and find herself back in the Academy if she came too close. And she missed Klaus, too, damn it. Missed the child he’d been, gentle and kind and goofy, but also missed the teenager she’d last seen, strung out, all sharp edges, cheek turning pink in the mark of her own hand at Ben’s funeral. 

And she was dying to tell one of her siblings about Claire. To gush about her, share the overwhelming love that she’d never known someone could feel for another person, proudly tell Klaus that she’d done that, she’d made a wonderful little girl that would never feel the way they had growing up. 

She could tell him about Hollywood, too. The bright lights, the red carpets, the parties. Oh, he would love it, love the pomp and ceremony, the floor-length gowns in gaudy colours, covered in sequins and gems and gold filigree. Allison adored it, though she left the finer points to her team of personal artists and designers, which meant Klaus would consider it Heaven. 

There were still concerns in the back of her mind that she couldn’t quite banish. Klaus had promised and lied countless times over the years, and Allison was just tired of it all. But, she told herself, if this turned out to be another one of those times, if Klaus wasn’t sober, if there was an underlying motive behind his sudden interest in reconnecting, she could simply stop replying. She could end it at any time, tell Jenny to hold all future letters. She had the power in the dynamic, and that was familiar, comforting. 

Worries assuaged, Allison settled back in next to Patrick. That night, she dreamed of tiny Claire, giggly and beautiful, clinging to her hand. She dreamed of curly hair and green eyes, purple fingernails and acrid cigarette smoke. Clandestine fashion shows, wobbling in heels, skinny arms tight around her shoulders in a hug.

In the morning, she wrote back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> figures that the fic about allison is the most dialogue heavy in the series. oops. but hey, diego!

“Oh, I bet Diego loved that.”

“You would think so! But alas, he never appreciates my genius. Said it was ‘irresponsible’ and ‘such a fucking dumb idea’ and ‘I could have killed you, Klaus’. A real snooze fest.”

Allison laughed, real and easy, and it still took her a moment to adjust to that, even though it had been a common enough occurrence over the past few weeks. When she first wrote back to Klaus, she had been worried that the easy camaraderie they’d shared as children would be long gone, that they would be two strangers acting as a poor facsimile of siblings. And it had been awkward, at first, because Allison hadn’t been a sister in a long, long time, and Klaus had seemed initially reluctant and uncharacteristically restrained. But after she’d dared to give him her personal number, one that bypassed Jenny completely, things had fallen into place, and their phone calls made her laugh like they were ten again.

“Well, at least he didn’t stab you,” she commiserated, still smiling. It felt good, smiling. None of the tension or defensiveness she’d gotten used to feeling around her family.

“That’s what he said, the asshole. His knife did give me a haircut though, and I told him he has to pay for that. A girl is nothing without her curls.”

“Of course,” Allison agreed easily. “But maybe you should knock, next time. At least when he has company.” 

Klaus scoffed. “I was doing him a favour! Not that anyone ever shows any gratitude in this family -  _ yes, obviously I mean you, shut up  _ \- Despite the manners Mom tried desperately to teach us. I see how it is. Diego will thank our robot mother for pancakes until he’s blue in the face, but as soon as Four tries to do a nice, brotherly act - ”

“Klaus,” Allison interrupted.

“Yes, sister dear?”

“Not Four. Klaus. Remember?” 

He was quiet for a moment, then picked up steam again. “Well, of course. Just a slip of the tongue, you know,  _ sus linguae, _ ” he said airly, unconcerned and unaffected.

Allison wished she could say the same. 

“You speak Latin now?” she asked instead of pressing the matter further, though she wanted to. They’d had the argument before, and she didn’t want to get into it again, not when the call had been going so well. She could worry about it later, after they hung up, as she often did.

“It  _ is _ a dead language, Allie, my love. And the dead are kind of my whole schtick, in case you’ve forgotten. Dear old Papa thought it a fantastic idea to teach little baby moi all kinds of boring old languages, though you don’t see many Latin speaking ghosts in the city. There was this one professor, but I only saw him the once before I took so much molly I couldn’t see  _ anything.  _ Woke up three days later halfway across the city, no professor in sight.”

He punctuated the story with a laugh, breezy and light. Allison did not join in.

He sobered quickly, always sensitive to her changes in mood, despite being miles away and years out of practice. “Hey,” he said hastily, anxiously. “Wait, let’s go back to talking about Diego. He’s a jerk, yeah, isn’t he? Remember when we were nine and he dumped all your nail polish in the toilet? Now, personally I think he’s just repressed as all hell, I mean have you seen him? Well, no, I guess you haven’t, but he’s always in leather, got this whole macho dungeon daddy thing going on - ”

“Oh, God,” Allison said in spite of herself, wrinkling her nose. “I really don’t need that picture in my head, thanks, Klaus.”   
  
“Hey! You’re not the one that has to see him and go out with him in public. The  _ looks  _ we get on the street, honestly. Sometimes I’m not sure if they’re admiring my skirt or expecting to find a collar around my neck. And he’s always so surprised when people are rude! Just last week, this old lumberjack called us - ”

“Klaus, stop, please!” she cried, and she was laughing again. 

“At least people don’t generally assume it’s a kinky sex thing when they see me with Luther,” he ruthlessly continued, tone speculative. “Although, we get weird looks, too. Some of them just look morbidly fascinated, like they think they’re going to see him crush me like a pop can.” He paused. “Oh. Maybe it is a sex thing.”

“Ugh, please stop,” she begged. “I really don’t want to think about my brothers that way.”

She could practically feel his glee through the phone, could sense him gearing up to continue traumatizing her with insinuations. It was fun and friendly, reminiscent of evenings spent holed up in her bedroom as teenagers, discussing boys and complaining about their brothers. It would have been perfect, if it wasn’t forcing her to imagine her brothers in situations she’d really rather stay clear of for the rest of her life.

“Oh, shit,” Klaus said suddenly. “Uh, sorry, Allie, but the robot lady is being all aggressive and I don’t have any more change on me.”

Allison grimaced. “Oh, Klaus, are you outside right now? Please tell me it isn’t snowing.”

“It isn’t snowing,” he repeated dutifully. “It is cold as balls, though. I should go before some asshole steals my spot. I’ll find some more change and call again this weekend, yeah? You can tell me about Claire’s Christmas dress - she’s going to have one, right? I saw this one in a magazine yesterday that was just  _ adorable _ , I think she’d look fantastic in the red lace.”

Allison sighed, though she tried to angle away from the phone enough that he wouldn’t hear. “Why don’t you go to Diego’s tonight?” she tried halfheartedly. This was another familiar argument. “It will probably snow later, and he’ll let you stay, right?”

Klaus hesitated for a moment, silence stretching and her hope deflating. “Nah,” he said finally. “I can’t. It’s too - busy. Anyway, he might throw another knife at me, the psycho.”

“Luther, then,” she urged, though she knew it was a dangerous line to toe. Klaus had only ever abruptly hung up on her once, and that had been after she threatened to rumour him into searching out one of their brothers for a warm place to sleep. He hadn’t called again for awhile after that, and she’d reluctantly agreed to keep any and all rumours out of their phone calls in future. She just didn’t know why he wouldn’t let her help him.

“Uh, hello, Reginald Hargreeves, the devil himself? I think I’d rather risk the frostbite. Besides, much as Luther and I are now bosom buddies forever, the big guy needs his space. He gets all grouchy.” Klaus sounded inexplicably fond, soft in a way Allison wasn’t used to hearing in relation to Luther. She still had no idea what had sparked their reconciliation, but whatever it was had left quite the impression.

(She was tempted, so tempted, to reach out to Luther herself. But it had been years, and they weren’t kids anymore. She liked hearing the little tidbits Klaus absently dropped into conversation, liked hearing about Luther’s model planes, his awkward attempts at spending time with Klaus at diners and Griddy’s. She told herself that was enough, for now. She’d reach out to him soon, just not yet.)

“Sorry, I really gotta go,” Klaus said regretfully. “Love you, Allie.”

He was gone before she’d even opened her mouth to say it back.

-

Allison was, generally speaking, a busy person.

She was in high demand in Hollywood, for a wide variety of movies, and she wasn’t too modest to admit it. Her agent had her on speed dial and there were always scripts in the mail for her to read, parts offered for her to review and consider. After Claire was born, she took a bit of a break so that she could spend time with her daughter, but now that Claire was a little older and sleeping through the night, Allison had started dipping her toe back into things.

So far, she’d starred in a small biopic that had only kept her away from home for a few months, and a cameo in a television series that only needed her for a few scenes. 

The point was that Allison was usually busy, and it wasn’t uncommon to see her own name and face on the television. Patrick faithfully watched every one of her movies with her, though he had the tendency to fall asleep halfway through, and Allison liked to keep up with her news segments, just to see what reporters and critics were saying about her this week. 

Seeing her face on the TV was not unusual. Seeing herself in a blazer next to five boys in masks was a punch in the gut.

It took her a nauseating moment to remember to breathe and actually pay attention to the news story. She stiffly sat on her couch, Claire clutched in her arms, and watched as an old portrait of her father came up on the screen, beside the picture of her and her siblings clustered in front of the Eiffel Tower. The anchorman droned on with the usual overview of the Umbrella Academy and the superpowered children that had spent a few years running around playing heroes, reminding the viewers of that period of time in case they’d forgotten that particular insanity, before delving into the real news. 

Reginald Hargreeves had invested in his own personal space program. He had announced to the world just this morning that he was sending his own son, Number One, Luther Hargreeves, to travel to and live on the moon for the foreseeable future. A scientific expedition, he said, to help uncover the mysteries of the universe and to guard the world from harm.

For the first time since they were seventeen, Allison saw Luther, displayed in a grainy photograph, obviously taken from a distance. He was tall and - huge, which she stumbled over for a split second, but he was also wearing what was undeniably a spacesuit. 

Holy shit, Dad was sending Luther to the moon.

Claire grumbled unhappily as she tried to get down, only for Allison’s frozen arms to keep her in place. She clumsily patted at her mother’s chest, squealing sharply, until Allison blinked and got with the program. Once on the floor, Claire shimmied and wiggled and butt-scooted her way across the rug, entranced by the large image of the moon on the television screen, with a picture of a young, maybe twenty year old Luther in the bottom left corner.

“Oh, Luther,” Allison said softly, sadly. 

She suddenly, fiercely, regretted that she’d never answered his phone call those years ago when she first left for LA, and that she’d never reached out to him since. Maybe if she had, he would have learned that it was possible for even him to have a life outside of the Academy, away from Dad. Maybe he would have built his own life, become his own person, and wouldn’t be gearing up to spend  _ years  _ on the  _ actual moon _ , a whole different planet away from literally everything and everyone he’d ever known.

Allison had spent the past seven years miles away from her family and emotionally even more distant. Luther hadn’t really been a part of her life in years, since they were seventeen, but suddenly Allison felt like he’d never been further away.

She wondered if Klaus knew. Surely he would have mentioned it on the phone, would have told her? He wouldn’t have just left her to find out on her own like this if he could help it, not when he was always encouraging her to at least try reaching out to their brother. But if he didn’t know, did that mean Luther hadn’t told him? Was he as surprised as Allison?

She wished he had his own phone number so she could call him. Writing him a letter would take too long, and he was always the one to phone her from payphones. It hadn’t been a problem before, but now it seemed like a huge oversight for her not to have a way to contact him directly. He was on the streets and Luther was going to be on the  _ fucking moon _ , and both of them were unreachable.

And if there was ever a time for Allison to need her fun loving brother who was always good at cheering her up, it was now. The moon. God, Dad literally couldn’t send him any further away. What, did he finally get sick of his last remaining toy? Decided Number One was useless without Two to Seven trailing behind him?

She wished she’d called the Academy the last time she’d spoken to Klaus. She’d thought about it, had been tempted, but ultimately decided not to, not wanting to run the risk of finding Pogo or Mom on the other end. Dad, she knew, rarely answered the phone himself, but there was a half-formed fear in the back of her mind that if Pogo heard her on the phone, he’d forcibly transfer her to Dad. 

(But Klaus said he called the Academy sometimes, right? And he had just as much reason as her to avoid their father, to avoid the risk. So Luther must answer the phone for him, at random times from random numbers, so maybe he would have picked up the phone when she called.

But she hadn’t called. And there weren’t any phones on the moon.)

Allison really, really wanted to talk to her brother. (Luther or Klaus?  ~~ Ben or Five? ~~ Did it matter?)

“Bah,” Claire said.

Allison blinked again, managing a smile in her daughter’s direction. “That’s your Uncle Luther,” she told her, gesturing to the television. Claire bobbed her head. “Oh, he’d love you, baby. He’s - going on a trip, far away, but he’s going to watch over us, yeah? Keep us safe.”

She leaned down and scooped Claire back up into her arms, ignoring the disgruntled bubbles blown her way. 

-

Klaus did not call that weekend.

This was not, in itself, unusual. Sometimes Klaus just didn’t have the change for a payphone, or he forgot, or he got busy. Sometimes, if he didn’t have the cash, he imposed on Diego for long enough to use his phone, though those calls were always cut short by a grouchy sounding man yelling about Hargreeveses. If he forgot, he usually remembered in time to phone the next day, apologetic and scattered, and he’d gotten better, the more they’d phoned: he hadn’t actually forgotten in a while. So his missing a call wasn’t unduly strange, but Allison didn’t like it, especially this time.

Because Luther was on the moon and Klaus had to know by now. And, honestly, Allison was stressing out a little, and could really use a Klaus phone call.

But the weekend came and went, and Klaus did not call.

He also did not reply to the last letter she sent, which definitely  _ was  _ strange, because she’d included pictures of Claire in her Christmas dress, and he always replied to her letters. He loved hearing about Claire, and he hadn’t seen many pictures until now, so she had been expecting - well, at least some kind of reaction. No doubt he would gush on the phone, but they’d kept up their letter correspondence despite the phone calls, for various reasons, and he never failed to uphold both.

Until now.

Allison knew better than to think it was a coincidence. Clearly, Klaus knew about Luther’s mission, and for whatever reason, he had decided that meant he shouldn’t call Allison. (She hoped it was that clear of a decision, anyway. It had been obvious to her since that first letter that Klaus was - different. Sometimes he trailed off during phone calls, distant and unreachable, and she had to try to bring him back, to varying levels of success. He said things in letters that were just a little off, enough to raise her concerns but not quite forthright enough to know what to be concerned  _ about _ . He was elusive and strange and sometimes seemed completely out of it, and it was entirely possible there was something else keeping him from calling. She didn’t like to think what that could be.)

But Allison was in LA and he was somewhere on the streets miles away, so it wasn’t like she could just go out looking for him. All she could do was sit and wait, and she hated that, hated feeling so helpless. She’d left the Academy specifically to find autonomy, to stop feeling so trapped, incapable of changing anything around her, and she didn’t appreciate losing that. 

It was Patrick that pointed out what was, admittedly, the obvious option, after fielding a number of her nervous rants.

Allison hadn’t spoken to Diego in a long time. She barely knew anything about him, which was fair, since she didn’t know anything about any of her siblings, and that had been a choice on all their parts. But Klaus spoke about him a lot, mainly through complaints, and most importantly, she had the number for the gym he frequented. She’d never used it because she’d never had to, but she didn’t have much choice now.

“I’m looking for Diego Hargreeves,” she told the man who answered, faintly recognizing his voice. 

The man grumbled and yelled something indistinct away from the phone, then left her listening to static until the phone was picked up again.

“Who is this?” Diego asked gruffly, and he sounded like her brother. Allison hadn’t realized she’d forgotten what Diego’s voice sounded like until she heard it again. 

“It’s Allison. I’m looking for Klaus, is he with you?”

She could practically feel his dismissive eyeroll. Seven years didn’t change that much, at least.

“Hey,  _ sis _ , nice to hear from you too,” he said, hard and sarcastic. “I’m doing great, thanks for asking. Hollywood all it’s cracked up to be?”

She huffed impatiently. God, why were her brothers always so frustrating? “Diego, seriously, have you seen Klaus?”

“What do you want with that numbskull?” he asked suspiciously. “He piss you off or something?”

“ _ No _ , I’m worried about him! He said he would call me this weekend, but he didn’t. I just - Did you hear about Luther?” She purposely made herself stop and take a breath, because after Klaus, Diego was probably the best at riling her up. But she didn’t want to get caught up in a petty argument now, at least not before she got the answers she was looking for.

Diego scoffed. “Oh, yeah, spaceboy. Must be his wet dream, going on the biggest scavenger hunt for Dad. Why?”

“I think Klaus might be upset,” she admitted, continuing before he could argue. “I’ve been talking to him a lot lately, Diego, and he and Luther have gotten - I don’t know, friendlier? I really think something’s wrong.”

There was a long pause before Diego responded, slightly softer, less defensive. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “Klaus did mention spending time with him. But you know how he is, maybe he just got distracted.” He sounded unsure.

“Have you seen him?” Allison pressed. “He said he checks in with you a lot.”

“No, he hasn’t been around in awhile. I was going to go out looking for his ass.”

Well, that answered that question. “Shit,” she said. “Well, call me when you find him, okay? Or tell him to call me. If you don’t find him - well, just keep me posted, okay?”

Diego reluctantly agreed and Allison turned straight to Patrick as soon as she hung up.

When Klaus didn’t call and Diego said there was no sign of him after another week, Allison booked a plane ticket home. 


	3. Chapter 3

Diego was, as Klaus had promised, covered in leather. 

He also lived in the boiler room of a gym, and Allison had to try very hard not to comment on that, because as much as she would love to snark at him, she kind of needed his help. That didn’t stop him from making digs about her life in LA and questioning the legitimacy of her success, but he was a dick like that and Allison was a good actor.

“Not sure why you suddenly care now,” Diego said snidely, clearly disgruntled at having her in his space. He was like a gargoyle in the middle of the room, stiff backed and unwelcoming. “I would’ve thought a drug addict brother wasn’t a good look in Hollywood.”

“Oh, give it a rest, Diego,” she said tiredly. “He’s my brother, of course I care.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Well, I seem to remember a certain someone telling  _ our  _ brother that he wasn’t a good look for a police officer, either,” she snapped, jet-lagged and discombobulated without Patrick and Claire. She immediately deflated at the tight look on Diego’s face. 

“Fuck you, I helped him get clean,” he said. “You didn’t see him before. He’s just your stupid penpal, I’m the one making sure he’s still alive every goddamn week.”

At that, Allison took a moment to close her eyes, because that - hit a little too hard. How many times had she bothered to spare a thought for Klaus when she was off being famous? She didn’t like the answer. 

There had been a time, before everything fell to pieces, when she had shared cigarettes with Klaus in the attic, young and giddy with rebellion. He’d shared a handful of joints with her, too, and one time he’d snuck a bottle of alcohol upstairs and they’d gotten happily smashed in her bedroom. They’d still been some semblance of close by the time he first started sneaking out to places unknown, coming back at bizarre hours unsteady on his feet and weakly triumphant. She hadn’t liked it back then, both because she was wistfully envious of his apparent freedom and because he was fifteen and dancing with a danger she couldn’t name. But then he had started disappearing for longer stretches, coming back with dilated pupils and bulging pockets, and it was less fun and more desperate. She’d distanced herself, then, and after she left for LA, she’d forcibly stopped herself from thinking about it any further.

But while she was attending high society parties and smiling for cameras, everyone else had still been here. Luther had still been stuck in the Academy, Diego was living in a boiler room, Klaus was on the streets, and Vanya - Well, Allison had no idea what her sister had even been up to for the past decade.

Allison always liked to think of herself as a decent enough sister, all things considered, but she was beginning to get the sneaking suspicion that she was wrong. 

“That’s why I’m here,” she conceded, raising her hands in surrender. “You have the best chance at finding him. I just want to make sure he’s okay. We’re on the same side, Diego.”

He scrutinized her for a minute, still unconvinced, but eventually something made him sigh unhappily and look away. 

“Fine,” he said. “I’ve been checking his usual haunts. Alleys, shelters, clubs.” Seeing the look on her face, he frowned, tensing his shoulders. “He was still sober last I saw, but it’s been weeks, Allison.”

As much as she didn’t want to, she had to concede that point. Besides, Diego probably had a better grasp of how to handle their brother’s addiction anyway. 

It had taken several letters and more than one phone call for Allison to fully believe Klaus’s sudden sobriety, but he’d never given her a real cause for doubt. After a little too much of her probing, he’d told her about Diego helping him to get clean, offering a place to stay, and, after further questions, had reluctantly told her the catalyst had been some kind of bad trip and subsequent injury. He hadn’t given her any more details, no matter how much she wheedled. But it had been enough to convince her that he was serious about staying clean this time, for whatever reason, and she didn’t want to believe he’d throw that away. 

She’d trusted him before and always came out the other side a fool, disappointed, and she didn’t want that to happen again, not when she actually felt like she had her brother back.

“Okay,” she said. “Where do we start?”

-

Diego took her to a number of different hideouts where he’d found Klaus in the past, each one seedier and more distressing than the last. He seemed largely unaffected by the grime and destitute nature, and spoke to a few of the people they came across with apparent ease, but Allison left each location feeling dizzy and ashamed, a sour note on her tongue.

Despite a brief rebellious period as a teen (perhaps not so brief, as it had carried her all the way to LA), Allison had never really seen this underbelly of the city she’d grown up in. Shortly before she left (when Ben was still alive and their family was still a family), she had started to sneak out to parties at night, once or twice with Klaus but usually alone. Klaus had always gravitated towards raves and clubs, the lights and the energy, but Allison had preferred the smaller house parties she sometimes got invited to by eager fans, where they would push drinks into her hands and throng around her, asking her about her powers, her life, her dreams. She hadn’t gone to many before everything fell apart, but it had been fun while it lasted and she’d never felt uncertain or unsafe, both because she was partying with people her age who were too starstruck to do much more than ask for her autograph, and because she was confident in her abilities. She knew that at the first sign of trouble, she could rumour it away.

Following after Diego through yet another underpass, Allison wondered what the people here did without rumours. What Klaus had done (did?).

With every place they checked, Allison felt her apprehension grow, expanding in her chest until it almost swallowed her whole. She could see it in Diego, too, in the tightness of his jaw and the deliberate restraint of his movements. Neither of them gave voice to the monster between them, but they both saw it, and Allison was just surprised Diego hadn’t let loose his ever present anger yet, particularly with every obstinate dealer and recalcitrant prostitute they came across.

Actually, Diego was shockingly civil with them all, which was such a strange sight that Allison had to stop and take stock. Even with his favoured siblings, Diego had never been that patient, that collected in the face of taunts, and she’d expected his vigilante persona to make more of an appearance. But he was gentler, in a way, with these people than he was with his own family. It made Allison feel - strange. After hitting puberty, Diego had dropped all social niceties and stopped caring about being nice or even courteous to anyone except Mom, and Allison had just assumed that held true for everyone around him, both inside the Academy and out. Apparently not.

She was happy enough to let him take the lead, though, so she pushed the thoughts away to deal with later, because they still hadn’t found Klaus and every time one of the people they talked to recognized Diego or Klaus’s name, Allison felt more and more uneasy, frantic and unraveling.

( - she knew what ‘homeless’ meant, had always known the connotations of ‘drug addict’ and ‘teen runaway’, but she’d never seen it in person, only played the part in a flop of a movie years ago, and she hated imagining Klaus here, in the alleys and vacant lots, seeing him in every payphone booth they crossed, chatting to her about red lace and Luther’s inability to use chopsticks while she sat at home picking out colour palettes for Patrick’s new office - )

“How many times have you found him in these places?” she finally brought herself to ask, rejoining Diego’s side as they headed back to the car. She studied the pavement under her boots rather than risk meeting his eyes.

“Too many,” he said gruffly, then hesitated. “Not enough. Lost track of him for a while and didn’t bother looking until the hospital called a few months ago.”

“He mentioned an injury,” she offered tentatively.

Diego hummed in agreement but didn’t provide anything more, which both disappointed and relieved her. She didn’t pry further as they climbed into his junker of a car, sitting back and resigning herself to another hour of searching and worrying - but Diego didn’t move to start the engine. He sat staring out the windshield, hands tight on the wheel, that familiar tic in his jaw.

“It’s late,” he finally said, reluctant. “I don’t know where else to look, not without reaching out to a few friends of mine at the station and asking if they’ve seen him. You should call it a night, Allison. You have a hotel?” 

“What? No,” she said. “No, Diego, we have to keep looking. Klaus is out there somewhere, we have to find him - ”

“None of the dealers I know about have seen him,” he interrupted. “We’ve been across town and back again and he hasn’t been at any of his usual spots. Hell, my information is the best we have, but even that’s almost two years out of date - I don’t know what he’s been doing since then, at least before he came to me. I’ll talk to some friends and get some new leads, alright, but there’s nothing more we can do tonight.”

It was killing him to say that, she knew. It wasn’t in Diego’s nature to give up, it never had been, not with his all-consuming competitive nature that had been bred and honed alongside Luther. Even when they all realized the extent of Klaus’s addiction, saw the change that had overcome him at Ben’s funeral, Diego had been so angry, but he hadn’t stopped trying with Klaus. Allison hadn’t stayed to see it, but it wasn’t a stretch to imagine Diego finding Klaus throughout the years, dragging him to rehabs (sending her the bill, not that she ever thought about what went on behind it) and sticking it out until one day, miraculously, something worked.

Allison was no stranger to stubbornness herself; she just typically channeled it into things other than her wayward family. 

She could see how much Diego hated the thought of halting the search, and she felt the same fear gripping her, but she had always prided herself on being at least slightly more rational than her testosterone-fuelled, bull-headed brothers. Luther was Number One and Diego was forever the next in line challenging his position, but as a child Allison had taken her role as Number Three to mean keeping them in check, making sure a cooler head prevailed. Diego had no other ideas for where Klaus could be, and the chances of them just stumbling upon him while trawling random streets were slim to none, so it made sense to turn in for the night and then approach things in the morning with clearer heads.

Allison knew all this logically, but it was harder to convince her nerves when all she could see were the stars overhead and the thin layer of snow on the pavement.

“Okay,” she sighed. “Fine. But we’re finding him tomorrow.”

“Damn right,” Diego agreed.

-

They did not, actually, have to wait that long.

Allison had been in such a hurry, a barely contained whirlwind of concern, that she had headed to Diego’s almost as soon as she stepped off the plane, not even bothering to drop off her bags at the hotel room Patrick had pre-booked. She had hoped that she would rush over only to find Klaus lounging in Diego’s home, all apologetic innocence, and she’d give him a hard time for worrying her before dragging him off to the hotel room so they could coo over pictures of Claire and she could make sure he had a place to sleep for the night, maybe show him the extra skirts she’d packed, the bottle of nail polish, the same cheap brand in the god-awful orange he’d preferred as a preteen -

Obviously, that had not happened. Instead, she’d found herself in the boiler room of a gym, staring down an unwelcoming Diego, bags at her feet. She’d left them there while she and Diego went out looking for Klaus, so she had to accompany Diego back to retrieve them before calling a taxi to take her to the hotel.

Except when they arrived at the gym on the wrong side of sunrise, they found the grouchy man Allison had spoken to on the phone waiting for them, clearly unhappy to be doing so.

“I’m not your damn secretary, Hargreeves,” he grumbled, giving Diego an impressive stink-eye. “Phone calls at all hours of the day and night - what do you think this is, your own personal office? I got a business to run here, I can’t be taking messages for you all the time!”

“Who called, Al?” Diego asked, completely unrepentant. He must have felt at least as tired and snappy as Allison, yet he didn’t let it show, which was impressive since it was taking all of Allison’s Hollywood training to follow suit.

Al muttered for a while, fishing a crumpled note out of his pocket and peering at it. “I don’t know, some girl asking to speak to you - Violet or Vienna or something. Said something about a brother, sounded German. If this is another one of your insane siblings, you can take your family reunion elsewhere, got it? That brother of yours is bad enough, showing up whenever he pleases, I won’t have another one!”

“Vanya called?” Allison interrupted, breathless. “About Klaus?” She shared a look with Diego, but he looked as confused as she felt. 

Al waved them off. “You want better messages, you pay a damn secretary,” he said. 

But they didn’t pay him any attention, already heading back to Diego’s car. 

-

Allison found herself unduly nervous on their way to Vanya’s. In her defense, she hadn’t exactly prepared herself for a sudden family reunion, and the circumstances did not help her anxiety. Though, that being said, she was pretty sure any kind of reunion would only ever be possible under threat of death with her family, so she probably shouldn’t have expected anything less.

Anyway, it was almost embarrassing how uncertain Allison felt as Diego pulled up to the apartment building their sister apparently lived in (and wasn’t that a surprise, to hear that Vanya and Diego had stayed in contact, however briefly, after leaving the Academy. Long enough that Diego knew where she lived and still remembered. Allison didn’t even know what Vanya did for a living.) 

The building was kind of worn looking, years past its prime, but it looked comfortable enough, and frankly, compared to a boiler room, the streets, or the moon, Vanya seemed to be doing quite well for herself. It wasn’t the kind of place Allison could see herself in, but it suited the memory of Vanya she had, small and quiet and unassuming. 

Diego led them to Vanya’s door with a single-minded determination, and judging by the look on his face, he had none of the patience he’d managed to keep during their search of the streets. Allison couldn’t help but remember the words their sister had used to describe him (surly, cruel,  _ desperate _ ) and she couldn’t really blame him for his anger (she felt the same - arrogant, conceited,  _ preening _ ), but she didn’t think yelling was going to solve anything. Besides, Klaus hated yelling (though he generally loved sibling squabbles).

The woman who answered the door was tiny and all muted colours. She’d cut her hair and grown out the bangs, but it was Vanya. Allison had a moment of vertigo. Had Vanya always been that short?

“Oh,” Vanya said, blinking at them. “Hey, guys. Come in.” She shuffled aside to let them pass, and Allison could almost see the nervous tension clinging to her shoulders. 

She might have been tempted to try and assuage her sister’s anxiety, but there, sitting scrunched at the end of Vanya’s couch, was Klaus.

“Hey, man, where the hell have you been?” Diego asked, disregarding Allison and Vanya as he crossed the room in a few long strides. He crouched by Klaus and put a hand on his arm. “Klaus? What happened?”

Klaus gave him a remnant of the careless grin Allison remembered from their childhood, but it was all wrong, too sharp around the edges, too tight around the eyes. It took her breath away for a moment, because he looked like the Klaus she remembered but -  _ wrong _ . His smile was nothing like the one he’d flashed around the Academy, and Allison’s gaze kept snagging on the faint marks on his face, scars trailing from temple to collarbone (and further? She couldn’t see past the collar of his faded, too-big shirt - Vanya’s?). Klaus had said  _ bad trip  _ and  _ injury  _ but he hadn’t said  _ self-inflicted  _ or  _ face _ . He was always full of words, spilling out in nonsense, but he hadn’t said the important ones.

Diego shifted uneasily, fingers flexing on Klaus’s arm. “Hey, bro,” he said lowly, shooting a glance at Allison. “What did you take?”

Vanya shook her head before Klaus opened his mouth. “He’s sober,” she said quietly, shrinking under their sudden attention. “I mean, he’s been here for - a few days, and he hasn’t taken anything since. Right?” she directed at the end to Klaus, looking awkward to be speaking for him. 

He nodded. “Pinky promise,” he said solemnly. “Not that I didn’t  _ want  _ to take another trip to candyland, but what would be the point, right? Won’t do any good! Other than the fun, of course, but all the joy of the high kind of gets ruined by the fucking  _ noise _ . I just wanted a way to make them stop and shut up, and the only way that’s ever worked is getting higher than the goddamn moon - hi, Luther - but I promised not to do that anymore, so then I was thinking what other things might make them stop - ”

Vanya bit her lip and turned away, catching Allison’s eye. “I found him a few blocks from the Academy,” she said softly, voice quiet enough to not be heard by their brothers. She looked upset. “It looked like he might, uh, hurt himself, so I brought him back here. He mentioned talking to you and Diego, so I thought I should call.”

“Oh, God,” Allison breathed. “Thank you, Vanya, I’ve been worried about him. How long has he been here?”

Vanya shrugged. “Just a few days. I don’t know where he was before,” she said, looking back at Klaus. There was a crease above her eyes that reminded Allison of when they were kids, performing tricks for Dad with Vanya at his side. “Is he - okay?”

That seemed like an odd question, considering Allison was the one who had spent the past two weeks panicking over Klaus’s supposed disappearance, and Vanya had had him here with her, safe in her home. It seemed like a question Allison should be asking, not answering.

But looking at her tiny sister, standing in front of her and throwing concerned glances over to their (formerly? usually) gregarious brother, Allison remembered the weird undertones to Klaus’s letters. Discarded sentences, abstract tangents, occasionally signing off as Four instead of Klaus. The sudden desire to reconnect with estranged sisters and overbearing brothers. Even his interest in knowing more about Claire, out of the blue and eager. With a sickening lurch, the pieces slot together and Allison felt painfully, completely stupid.

“I don’t know,” she said, sighing. She dared to raise a hand to brush against Vanya’s arm, offering what she hoped was a comforting look before she turned away to approach her brothers.

Diego was murmuring tightly to Klaus, leaning in close enough to touch, all tense lines and clenched fists, but it didn’t seem like he was angry. Klaus’s eyes were hooded, head tilted back, and Allison might have believed he was more asleep than awake except for the tight grip he had on his legs, squeezing them to his chest. He barely responded to Diego practically speaking directly into his ear, but he occasionally twitched and grimaced at random.

“Hey, Klaus,” Allison said, smoothly overriding whatever secrets Diego was sharing. He glared at her but obligingly moved back. She carefully slotted herself next to Klaus on the couch, pulling on all of her training to put on an air of confidence, pretending like she knew what the fuck she was doing. “Did you see the pictures of Claire I sent?”

Klaus blinked at her as if just waking up. “Yeah,” he said, and softened. “Yeah, I did. She’s beautiful, Allie.”

Allison couldn’t have prevented her resulting smile even if she’d wanted to. It was an instinctive reaction. “She is,” she agreed. “And I know she’d love to meet you. What do you say? Come back to LA with me, welcome in the new year with your niece. In style, of course.”

Diego looked like he wanted to protest, but she shot him a warning look.

Klaus flicked his eyes away, frowning, fingers beginning to pick at the threads of his jeans. “I’d love to meet her,” he said, though he didn’t sound as enthusiastic as Allison had imagined he would when she’d first thought of inviting him for a visit weeks ago. She wished she’d actually extended the invitation back then - maybe all of this could have been avoided. 

(Luther, Klaus - Allison had wanted to get away from her past with the Academy, but she’d never wanted to hurt her family, even when she was leaving them behind.)

“I’ll have my team dress you up,” Allison said, warming up to the idea even as she spoke. “All the feathers and glitter you want. You’ll love LA, all the sun and fancy parties to crash.”

Klaus smiled, and it was more familiar this time. Allison couldn’t describe the feeling akin to relief that washed through her at seeing it, so she didn’t try. 

“That sounds great,” Klaus said, finally unwinding from his curled position. He stretched out his legs and grasped her hand, grip tight and skin cool. “Seriously, Allie, it sounds amazing. And I would love to visit, to meet Claire and see what exactly you keep in your closet - I bet it’s bigger than Van’s whole apartment, right?” He grinned, infectious, and she found herself smiling back. She did not confirm nor deny. “But I think maybe we should hold off on all that. I’m not really - all here. Scattered.” He spread his arms out in a helpless shrug. “Not really in the right headspace.”

Allison wanted to argue, to push more, because she felt like if she could just make him see how  _ good _ LA would be, how good  _ Allison _ would be, he would agree. She missed him, missed the friendship they’d had, and the letters and the phone calls had been great, had been more than enough until she came here and actually saw him in person, but now she just really wanted to keep him with her, in her sights. 

But Klaus had always been one of the most stubborn of them, second only to Five, and something in his eyes stopped her protests. He looked - sad, and regretful, ever so slightly frantic and afraid. Something was scaring him, and she didn’t want to make it worse. 

“Move back in with me,” Diego said, a firm set to his jaw. “I mean it, Klaus. It worked out before, right?”

Klaus was already shaking his head. “You live in a boiler room, Di,” he said, sounding tired but fond, like this was a familiar argument. Allison couldn’t really fault him for that, since she’d seen where Diego called home. It barely seemed suitable for one brother, let alone two. “Besides,” Klaus continued, and something in his face twisted. “It’s still too goddamn loud.”

Diego frowned at that, and Allison just felt confused. She’d heard that before, hadn’t she? In Klaus’s very first letter. But the walls at the gym hadn’t seemed that thin, and she couldn’t imagine there would be too much noise anyway. 

It was Vanya that spoke, soft and devastating. “The ghosts?” she said hesitantly, sympathetically.

“What?” Allison asked, taken aback, and only more so when she saw Klaus nod, throwing Vanya a grateful look. “Ghosts?”

“Loud,” Klaus said, not clarifying anything.

Allison looked between them, more and more confused, but they didn’t offer anything more, and Diego was no help. He was just glaring at the ground, arms tight across his chest. He never did like being out of the loop. 

Vanya had a speculative look on her face, hesitant and unsure, but she met Klaus’s gaze steadily, and he seemed pathetically relieved that someone, at least, understood what the hell he was talking about. 

“Maybe,” Vanya started slowly. “Uh, Klaus would you - want to stay here? With me? Is it - loud, here?”

Klaus looked as surprised as Allison felt. Mutely, he shook his head, eyes wide.

“Okay,” Vanya said, then straightened her shoulders and nodded firmly. “Okay. You can stay here. You’d have to sleep on the couch and I don’t have much space, but. If you want to stay, you can. But no drugs.” 

“He’s clean,” Diego growled protectively, which was stupid, since he had been the one to first suggest a possible relapse. Klaus put a calming hand on his elbow.

“You don’t need to do that, Van,” Klaus said delicately. “I can be quite the irritating house guest.”

Vanya shrugged, crossing her arms and shuffling her feet. “It hasn’t been so bad, these past couple days,” she said, then: “I want you to.”

Klaus smiled, big and genuine, and Allison felt the anxiety that had gripped her heart for the past two weeks loosen, just a little. 

“And I’ll book you a plane ticket to LA, as soon as you’re up for it,” Allison promised, and Klaus turned his smile onto her. She returned it.

She’d never been able to picture Klaus with Claire after she was born. He’d always been too prickly in her memories, constant movement, more likely to cradle a bottle of scotch than a baby, and she’d never liked to imagine him with Claire because he just wasn’t kid-friendly. Her imagination had been years out of date, though, and she’d found herself challenging it every so often, after the letters started. She’d always wanted at least one of her siblings to meet Claire, but Klaus had never been her first choice.

But she thought maybe she could see it now. He still wasn’t cut out for babysitter, and he was and wasn’t like she remembered, familiar traits spun around a frame of a man she didn’t fully recognize, but all the parts she’d missed were there. He would love Claire, and she would love him.

And maybe, when Klaus felt up for it, she would invite Vanya to LA, too. Maybe even Diego, if he was on his best behaviour. 

Maybe the two worlds could cross without everything falling apart. Maybe Allison could have it all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not super happy with the ending, but i guess i wrote what i wanted to. even had a mini half family reunion and got to see a little of what allison thinks of diego and vanya. (pre-canon divorce, anyway. i feel like her worldview and attitude shifted dramatically after she lost custody of claire and started having to go to therapy)
> 
> next up is vanya, and we get to learn a bit more of what klaus got up to after luther left


End file.
